Cold Service (6 page)

"Bohunks run it since the Pilgrims," Healy said. "Then after the war it began to shift. All that's left is one Ukrainian neighborhood, where Boots is from. The rest is mostly black, mostly Caribbean black. We think of them all as Hispanic. Or black. But they don't. They think they're Puerto Rican, Jamaican, Haitian, Costa Rican, Dominican, Guatemalan."

"So even though they a majority, they don't have think so because they don't think they all the same."

Healy nodded.

"So the Bohunks still in charge," Hawk said.

"It's more specific than that," Healy said. "Boots Podolak is in charge."

"Tell us about Boots," I said.

"Boots's grandfather took Marshport away from the Yankees," Healy said. "And his father inherited it and passed it on to Boots."

"They control it."

"Completely," Healy said. "Cops, firemen, probation officers, district court judges, aldermen, state reps, congressmen, school superintendents, restaurant owners, car dealers, liquor distributors, junk dealers, dope, whores, numbers…" Healy spread his hands. "Everything."

"And you can't close him down."

"I can't because I'm the homicide commander and it ain't my job," Healy said. "But it's a closed corporation and nobody will talk. Witnesses die. Informants disappear. Undercover cops disappear. Judges get intimidated."

Healy's office was on the top floor, and through the window behind his desk I could see the snow still falling evenly, and the plows lunging fitfully along Commonwealth Avenue, trying to stay ahead of it.

"You met Boots?" Healy said.

"Yes," Hawk said.

"You?" Healy said to me.

"Yes."

"At the same time?" Healy said. "Both of you?"

"Yes," I said.

Healy smiled.

"That must have been interesting."

"How big an operation is Boots running," Hawk said.

"About eighty thousand," Healy said.

"The whole city."

"Yep."

"How many people with guns."

Healy thought about it.

"Lemme make a call," he said.

"Maybe you don't have to," Hawk said. "Does he have as many shooters as Tony Marcus?"

"Oh, hell, yes."

"As good?"

"Hell, yes. He's got some Ukrainians would kill you for eating a Tootsie Roll," Healy said, "then take it out of your dead mouth and finish it."

"These homegrown Ukrainians," Hawk said. "Or Ukrainian Ukrainians."

"Imported," Healy said.

"How 'bout Boots?" I said.

"Don't look like much," Healy said, "does he?"

"He stands his ground pretty good," I said.

"Does he?" Healy said.

I shrugged. Hawk looked impassive, which is one of Hawk's best things.

"Ain't it great," Healy said, "how those of us in and out of law enforcement can share information in the common good."

"He looks like a mean funeral director," I said.

"He's a psychopath," Healy said. "Or is it sociopath. I can't keep it straight."

"He's a whack job," I said.

"He is," Healy said. "He's not such a whack job that he can't see what's in his best interest, and he's not such a whack job that he can't do what's in his best interest. He can take care of business. But if it's good for business, he'll do anything. Kill, torture, maim, chop up small children, whatever. A lot of people have died lousy deaths because of him."

Healy looked at Hawk.

"You think you were almost one of them?" he said.

Hawk shrugged.

"I'll know, sooner or later," he said.

"As a police officer, of course it is my obligation," Healy said, "to warn you against taking the law into your own hands."

I said, "Of course, Captain."

"Still," Healy said, " 'twould be a darlin' thing if the rat bastard were dead."

"Darlin'," I said.

"You Mickeys do talk strange," Hawk said. "You know any connection between Boots and Tony Marcus?"

"No," Healy said. "I can check with the Organized Crime Unit. Give you a call."

"Thanks," Hawk said. "Call Spenser."

Healy grinned.

"Wouldn't want me knowing how to find you, would we," he said.

"We would not," Hawk said.

"A Navy pilot ever land on this thing?" I said. "By mistake?"

"I try not to drive it near the coast," Hawk said. "You know Tony had a daughter?"

"No," I said.

"Who would know 'bout that?" Hawk said.

"Nobody I can think of," I said.

"Guess we gonna have to ask Tony."

"Maybe Boots was blowing smoke," I said, "so you wouldn't shoot him."

"No," Hawk said. "I was looking in his eyes. He was telling me as little as he could. But he weren't lying."

"He won't like that we dissed him in his own office," I said.

"Diss him where we find him," Hawk said. "Lotta people ain't going to like us, 'fore we're through."

"Probably including Tony," I said.

"Probably."

"We could start handing out numbers," I said. "Like a deli."

There was a snow emergency parking ban, so Hawk dropped the four-wheel drive into low range, pulled the Navigator into the alley behind my office, jammed it up onto the sidewalk by the back entrance to my building, and parked. We went up the back stairs to my office.

We hung up our coats. I made some coffee. While I was doing that, Hawk stood in the window bay and watched it snow. I got some cream out of the office refrigerator, and sugar from the office-supply cabinet. I put out two thick white china mugs, and the cream and sugar, on my desk. I went to the closet, unlocked it, and got a bottle of "Black Bush" Irish whisky from the shelf and set it down beside the mugs.

"Snow emergency," I said.

"You gonna need another mug," Hawk said.

"Who?"

"Captain Martin Quirk," Hawk said. "His driver just let him out on the corner and is now parked there, screwing up the traffic."

"He feeling bad about that?" I said.

"I only guessing," Hawk said. "But I say no."

I went and got some spoons and a third mug. Susan had bought me the mugs from a restaurant supply catalogue. She said they were the perfect masculine complement to my Mr. Coffee machine. She might have been needling me. I had just put the spoons down and the extra mug beside the other two when Quirk came in. He was wearing a dark gray tweed overcoat with raglan sleeves, his collar turned up. He wore no hat, and his hair was flecked with still-unmelted snow.

Quirk looked at the mugs and the bottle.

"That looks encouraging," he said.

"You off duty?" I said.

"On my way home," Quirk said.

I poured coffee into the mugs, added sugar and cream to mine and a significant slosh of whisky, and set the bottle out for the others.

"Hawk tells me your driver is impeding traffic," I said.

"Christ, there's got to be some fun being a cop," Quirk said.

All three of us sipped our enhanced coffee for a moment. The storm wasn't one of those raging ones. It was a placid, persistent storm. Not too much wind. Not too brutally cold. Merely the implacable quiet snowfall outside the window.

Quirk set his coffee mug down on the edge of my desk and hung his coat on the rack, and sat down near his coffee. Hawk continued to watch the snow fall.

"You're looking strong, Hawk," Quirk said.

"I am," Hawk said.

"Probably get in trouble if you quoted me," Quirk said, "but I'm glad to hear it."

"Won't never tell," Hawk said.

"You boys recall the law firm of Duda and Husak," Quirk said.

"They represented Bohdan and the Ukrainians," I said.

"Sounds like a band my daughter listens to," Quirk said. "Yeah, them."

He drank some more coffee and tilted the chair back a little so that the front feet were off the ground.

"Went to see them just the other day," Hawk said.

"I knew that," Quirk said.

He rocked his chair slightly, keeping the balls of his feet on the floor. It was early evening. I had not turned on the overhead lights in the office. The lamp on my desk was lit, and the rest of the illumination was the odd diffuse, ambient light of the Back Bay filtering through the snow. I poured some more coffee. We added whisky.

"What did you talk about?" Quirk said.

"Asked Husak who hired him to represent the Ukes," Hawk said.

"He tell you?"

"Un-huh."

"Willingly?" Quirk said.

Hawk smiled.

"He pretty willing," Hawk said.

"Why?" Quirk said.

"We just talkin'," Hawk said. "Right?"

"We're just three good old boys," Quirk said. "Sitting in a dim room, drinking whisky and looking at the weather."

"I stuck him out the window of his office a little," Hawk said.

"That would make him willing," Quirk said. "Who'd he say hired him?"

"Boots Podolak," Hawk said.

Quirk stopped rocking his chair. He held the coffee mug in both hands and inhaled the steam coming off the top before he drank some. Then he tilted his head back a little and let the coffee and whisky ease down his throat.

"Boots," Quirk said.

"You know him," I said.

"Yes. Husak say why Boots hired him?"

"See to it that nobody rolled on anybody," I said.

"You think he knew more than he told you?"

"He knew, he'da told," Hawk said.

Quirk nodded.

"High window," he said. "Did you talk to Duda?"

"Not yet," Hawk said.

Quirk was quiet for a bit. We waited. Whatever it was he knew, he'd get to it.

"Husak's dead," Quirk said. "And we can't find Duda."

"How'd he die," Hawk said.

"He was decapitated," Quirk said. "In his office. Lotta blood."

Decapitated?

"Somebody making a point," Hawk said.

Quirk nodded.

"Who they making it to?" I said.

"Maybe you," Quirk said.

"What about Duda?" I said. "Any leads?"

"I'm not expecting to find him alive," Quirk said. "Unless he bailed out early… and far."

"Husak told us he was in Miami," I said.

"Maybe he got lucky," Quirk said. "He say where in Miami, or why?"

"Said he took a week off and went to Miami. Was due back this week."

"I'll call Miami," Quirk said, "ask them to check the resort hotels."

"I'd check some of the dumps along Miami Beach first," Hawk said.

"You don't think they're high-steppers?" Quirk said.

"You seen the office," Hawk said.

Quirk stood now and went to stand beside Hawk and look down at the street.

"He is fucking up traffic," Quirk said, "isn't he."

"Un-huh."

Quirk glanced at Hawk and turned slowly and looked at me. His back was to the window now.

"Being a veteran police investigator, and a deep student of human character, I'm going to hazard a guess. You went to see Boots."

"Incredible," Hawk said.

"Yeah, it is," Quirk said. "You hang him out a window?"

"Nope," Hawk said. "I put a gun to his head."

"Jesus Christ," Quirk said. "Boots Podolak?"

"That sort of how he felt," Hawk said.

"What'd he tell you?"

"Well, it got kind of confusing. An alarm went off and there were cops and all I got was to ask Tony Marcus about his daughter."

"Tony Marcus?" Quirk said.

"There's some connection," I said. "Between them."

"Tony and Boots?" Quirk said. "Christ! Just when you think you've seen everything."

"Sit you here for show," Tony said to me. "Try to attract a few white folks."

"Ebony and Ivory," I said.

"Damn straight," Tony said. "What you want for lunch? Fried chicken's good."

"Can I get watermelon with that?" I said.

Hawk grinned. Tony gestured to the waitress.

"Tell Roy," he said. "Put together a nice-tasting plate for these gentlemen. And bring me a Jack Daniel's."

He looked at us. Hawk and I both shook our heads.

"Guess I'm drinking alone," Tony said.

The waitress went away. Ty Bop stood near the front door, simultaneously motionless and edgy. Junior loomed at the end of the bar.

"You might get a more, ah, diversified patronage," I said, "if Ty Bop weren't standing there like a scorpion on the nod."

"Ty Bop like a son to me," Tony said. "How you getting on with the Ukrainians?"

"Went up to see Boots Podolak," Hawk said.

Tony frowned and shook his head.

"Don't know the name," he said.

The waitress set his drink down near his elbow and went silently away. She had cornrows and a very successful backside.

"Tha's odd," Hawk said. "He knew yours."

"Lotta people know mine," Tony said.

He took an appreciative drink of his whisky.

"Boots say we should ask you 'bout your daughter," Hawk said.

Tony finished sipping his whisky and set the glass down carefully where it had been. Nothing appeared to change. But the air felt suddenly brittle.

"Daughter?" Tony said.

"I ask Boots was there something going on with you and him, and he say ask him 'bout his daughter."

"Why would he say that?"

"I was, ah, urgin' him strongly," Hawk said.

"Why you even talking to him?" Tony said.

"He hired the lawyers represented the Ukrainians," Hawk said.

"I got nothin' to do with them," Tony said.

" 'Cept for them trying to take away your business."

"They just nibblin' at the edges," Tony said.

The waitress with the cornrows came toward us from the kitchen with a large tray balanced at her shoulder. Tony looked up and saw her and waved her away. Without breaking stride she turned and walked back to the kitchen. I felt bad. I'd spotted ribs on the platter.

Hawk said, "I don't believe that, Tony."

Tony raised his glass and sipped some more whisky. He looked at Hawk silently for a time.

"With all due respect, Hawk," Tony said. "I don't actually give a fuck you believe me or you don't."

"You got a daughter?" Hawk said.

Tony looked at him silently.

"I ain't got nothing else to say, Hawk."

"This is silly," Hawk said. "I gonna find out, why not find it out from you."

"Known you a long time," Tony said to Hawk. "Paid you some money sometimes. Never had no problem with you."

"Now you do," Hawk said.

"You just missed dying once already in this thing," Tony said.

"What thing?" Hawk said.

Tony shook his head. By the door, Ty Bop was holding a long-barreled semiautomatic at his side. At the bar, Junior had produced a sawed-off shotgun. Two men came from the area where Tony had his office. Both had shotguns. The half a dozen or so diners in Ebony & Ivory sat frozen in their places, shoulders hunched, trying to be as small as they could be. Ready to hit the floor if the balloon went up. Hawk looked slowly around the room. Then he nodded to himself at the conclusion he reached, and stood and began to walk to the door. I followed him. In order for Hawk to open the door, Ty Bop would have to move a little. Hawk paid no attention. When he reached the door he opened it and Ty Bop took a half step out of the way. Hawk went through. I stopped for a moment and turned to Tony.

"This just isn't helping your diversity project," I said, and went out after Hawk.

Ty Bop closed the door behind me.